Blood, Bullets and Blondes
by SanguineCross
Summary: When a cynical journalist comes to Central, Havoc finds himself in the middle of a steamy whirlwind romance while dodging bullets from a vicious circle of infamous pirates. Rated M for sex, language and violence.
1. In which the characters are exposed

Rated M for explicit sex scenes in future chapters and strong language.

I don't own FMA, but Hiromu Arakawa does.

Review if desired. Please be constructive in your criticism. (All pop culture references are purely for humour.)

--

The men were awkwardly trying not to stare.

Sh…h…IT couldn't have been more than five foot four at the most, swathed in a great green sweatshirt, which conveniently concealed any potential curves or lack thereof he/she/it may have had. It wore a pair of blue jeans, white with age and ripped at the knees, and a massive pair of buffed black Doc Martens. A baseball cap was pulled low over its face, dark blue with the text "STUPID FOREIGNER" arched over the brim. Shocks of dark brown hair poked out from underneath it.

Colonel Mustang cleared his throat. "Men, this is Hima L'eaublanc."

"Just Hima will do, thanks," muttered Hima.

They breathed a sigh of relief. That voice was clearly female.

"Hima-chan, then," said Mustang.

"Please, don't call me -chan, Mr. Mustang. I don't believe I know you well enough, to be frank."

Roy Mustang's brow furrowed slightly. He didn't usually induce this kind of reaction in women, with his exotic Asian looks. "Very well, then. Miss L'eaublanc will be on the premises for the next year or so, running a series of weekly articles on our base and its goings-on. Hopefully, this will drum up some more potential recruits!"

Hima looked monstrously bored with all of this, her eyes flicking from face to face of the soldiers lined up in front of her, her chin cupped in her hand.

"So! I expect _impeccable_ conduct from you all! Do not do anything you wouldn't want your mother to hear about, in other words."

"Don't listen to a word he says," drawled Hima, tapping her pen against her open notepad. "The public eats drama up. That's why shit like _CSI: Miami_ and _EastEnders_ are still on the air, despite being trite and boring intellectual drain holes."

Mustang frowned. "You can't honestly say that about CSI! It's the best show on since they cancelled _Arrested Development_!"

"Look, David Caruso is, straight-up, the worst actor on the planet, and any half-witted moron can imitate his acting mannerisms to a T." She scribbled something down rapidly.

One of the soldiers cut in. "Worse than Charlton Heston or William Shatner?"

"Shatner knows he's a joke, but good call on Heston, I'll give you that. What's your name?"

Clearing six feet with ease, a shock of ruffled blonde hair falling into his eyes, the soldier saluted. "Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc, ma'am."

She smiled dryly as she wrote a few more notes. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Havoc."

Mustang interjected, feeling his grip on his troops beginning to slip. "Who will incidentally be your roommate for the next year, Miss L'eaublanc."

Havoc's eyes widened slightly. "What?! Sir, I wasn't told about this!"

One of the other soldiers cut in. "Yeah, but think about it - you're the only guy on the patch without a roomie." This one, a heavy-set redheaded man with the beginnings of a beard (and a beer belly), scratched his chin for a moment before speaking again. "Or a girlfriend."

Mustang snorted. Snickers followed, and Havoc's face fell. His gaze dropped down to his feet, his face reddening.

"Wait, hold on a minute here." Hima pointed her pen at Havoc. "YOU'RE single."

He nodded, without looking up.

She pointed at the redhead. "And YOU'RE taken. Also, name?"

The redhead frowned, crossing his arms. "Heymans Breda, and what is THAT supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing, just curious."

Mustang massaged his temples. "Basically, just answer any questions Miss L'eaublanc has for you and stay out of trouble. Dismissed."

Hima watched as the troops dispersed, chewing on the end of her pen, mulling over in her mind who to interview first. There was the scrawny, nerdy-looking one with the huge coke bottle glasses; a sallow, gaunt, grey-haired man with a terribly serious expression; Heymans Breda, the tubby redhead; a tallish ice-blonde woman with a severe look to her, and the Colonel himself. Hima pinned him as being a smug bastard who thought of himself as God's gift to women. Something about his self-confident smirk was irking her.

"If they won't GIVE me drama, I'll make my own," she muttered under her breath, shoving her pen behind her ear and pocketing her notebook.

She scraped her chair back, her face deadpan, strode over and tapped Mustang on the shoulder. He turned, one of his eyebrows raised.

"I bet you a hundred and fifty bucks that I can get Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc laid in the next week."

You could hear a pin drop. The scrawny geek's mouth was open in shock.

Mustang's expression was hard to read. He pondered the question for a solid minute, while in the corner, the Second Lieutenant's face grew steadily redder, his face a mask of horror.

The Colonel smirked.

"You're going to need more than a week, missy."

"Two weeks, then." She crossed her arms.

"No, no, longer than that." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Tell you what. I'll give you the entire year, and let's up it to seven hundred and fifty."

"Sold. If I can do it in less than a month, I'm inviting the whole platoon out for drinks, and you're paying."

Mustang held out his hand. "Deal."

She shook it, still totally deadpan. This was perfect.


	2. In which Hima is quite handsy

She spent the rest of the day interviewing the other soldiers, learning how things ran, who did what, tidbits of history here and there, but avoided speaking to the Second Lieutenant until the end of the day.

She pocketed her notebook, stepping out into the glaring sunlight, and walked up to Havoc. He was slouched slightly, his hands shoved in his pockets, smoking a cigarette.

"Afternoon," she said, smiling.

He exhaled a streamer of smoke and grunted in acknowledgement.

She leaned against the wall next to him, mimicking his surly expression. "Pissed off about earlier?"

"Yeah, actually."

"It was a bitchy thing to do, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"But are you up for it?"

He sighed and ran a hand back through his hair. "Look, lady, my luck with women has been terrible. I'm willing to try almost any-fuckin'-thing."

She smiled brightly. "I'm sure I can help with that. Let's walk and talk, yeah?"

He nodded, and she set off at a brisk pace, falling into step with him. She rattled off questions like a machine gun.

"Age?"

"24."

"Height, weight, chest-neck-waist-hips?"

"Err, 6'4", 220 pounds, 42-18-37-38."

She looked him over. "Looks about right. How much can you bench?"

"Err, about my own weight or so…"

"Yeah, you look strapping. What kind of women do you prefer?" She rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

"Busty."

"Is that all? Because I know this single grandmother who--"

He backpedalled rapidly. "And around my age! Jesus!" He shook his head, lighting another cigarette. 'A pretty face, too…redhead. With lots of freckles. Kinda like you, but ehhh, you're into girls, aren't you?"

She smirked. "Yes and no."

He paused. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Hima polished her nails against her sleeve and studied them intently. "Oh, nothing, really. Hobbies, interests?"

He thought for a moment. "Err…cooking. And rugby. Movies, for sure."

"Good, good, a broad spectrum, girls like that. Education?"

"High school."

"Right, right. How much do you make in a year? Gotta weed out them golddiggers."

"Not a whole lot. Somethin' like 25 000, but since I live on the patch, I get free housing." He shrugged. "I'm supposedly due for promotion to full Lieutenant soon."

She flicked a page over in her notebook. "Length and girth of penis?"

He stopped dead. "What the hell kind of a question is that?!"

She smirked slightly and tucked her pen behind her ear. "I was kidding."

He frowned, shaking his head. "Anyways, we're here."

The patch wasn't very impressive. In fact, everything about it was rather run down and vaguely depressing. "These are technically PMQ's, but most of the guys here are bachelors." He strode up to the house on the very end of the street and unlocked the door.

There was a strong scent of cigarettes in the air. He rapped the radiator with his knuckles, grunting in displeasure. "Fuckin' heat's turned itself off again. You make yourself at home, and I'll go turn it on."

He headed upstairs. She watched him for a brief second, then wandered into the living room.

Typical bachelor. Cheap rabbit-eared television set perched precariously on a box in the corner, newspaper from this morning draped over a coffee-ringed table. Ashtray dangerously close to overflowing. Radio on the shelf tuned to a rock and roll network, scant few books neighbouring it.

He came back downstairs, sat on the steps, and began untying his boots. "Yeah yeah, it's not very clean, but I had no warning I was going to be getting a roommate, so whatever."

"I've seen messier," she drawled, noting the cobwebs up in the corners of the ceiling. She leaned over and picked up a magazine. " 'Busty or Bust, the only magazine for the boob aficionado…?"

He coloured immediately. She flicked it open, cocked her head to one side. "Haven't seen this one," she said. "Yeah, she's a cutie, with the short hair."

His brow was furrowed as he pulled off his other boot and began taking off his uniform jacket. "Do you mind not humiliating me while we're sharing this house?!" he snapped, throwing his jacket over the banister with unneeded venom.

"I don't see what's so humiliating about….wow, now SHE'S hot. Completely smoking'." She shut the magazine and put it back onto the table. "Being sexually aroused by titsy women is not an uncommon thing, you know."

He ran a hand back through his hair, taking out yet another cigarette. "That is not the fucking point," he growled.

"What is, then?" She paused as he flicked open his lighter, coming towards him. As he took a drag, she grabbed his collar and pulled his face down to hers. "Maybe, she murmured, the point is what will be standing up right here…?"

She slipped her free hand into his pants and cupped his member, squeezing gently. She grinned. "Now, this is something to be proud of."

He let out a small hiss of air, and she felt him twitch within her hand. She brought his lips back to hers and kissed him, pulling him backwards towards the couch.

She pushed him onto it and kissed him again, slipping her tongue into his mouth, and he was already erect, his cock jutting out from under his pants. When she paused for a moment, he gasped, his eyes going wide.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he said, watching in awe as she determinedly yanked his belt off and popped open his fly.

"What the fuck do you think I'm doing?" she growled in reply, as she slipped down between his legs. With delicacy, she pulled down the waistband of his boxers and extracted his member, a grin spreading across her face. Shocked fascination stamped on his face, he looked on as she licked both of her palms, grabbed his cock, and began to slowly but strongly jerk him off. He gasped again, sparkles of pleasure already spreading up his body.

"Harder or softer?" she said, squinting upwards at his face.

"Harder," he said, giving up on comprehension and relaxing back against the couch.

Immediately her grip became tighter and he groaned. "Faster or slower?"

"Faster," and as the pace picked up, "faster!"

A feverish blush spread across his face, hot, blazing pleasure gathering and intensifying at his crotch. She regarded him with a look of intense concentration; only the slight tinge of red over her cheeks indicating her excitement.

She hit a high spot, and he moaned, his head rolling back. Her second hand rose and began drawing circles on the head of his cock, her first hand pulling back his foreskin, and his hips rose upwards, toes curling. He scrabbled for a moment at the hem of his shirt, and he pulled it off, tossing it aside, his hand rising to pluck at his nipples, sending sharp sparks down his side. She gazed admiringly at his sculpted pecs and toned abs for a moment, noting the rugged landscape of old scars lining his stomach, chest and arms; and then his hips bucked upwards and she pulled her face back as he came. White as snow, it erupted from him in thick streamers, dropping onto his chest and spattering onto his wiry blonde pubes. He panted, shuddered all over, wiping his forehead.

She leaned back and grabbed some tissue off of the table, gently cleaning him and then tucking him back into his pants. He sighed, took the tissue from her and began to wipe off the residual semen from his chest. She rose slightly and took a drop of it onto her finger, tasted it.

"I see you enjoy having your nipples stimulated," she said, licked her lips.

He blinked. "I thought all guys did."

"You missed a spot." She dabbed at his collarbone. "All guys like different things, same as all girls. 's why you need to talk to your partner and learn what they enjoy." She stood up, glancing around. "Where's your bathroom?"

He pointed back towards the stairs. "Just to the right of the front door."

"Thanks." She went to the sink and washed her hands, whistling. He zipped his pants back up and pulled his shirt on, lit a cigarette. She returned a moment later, wiping her hands on her sweatshirt.

"Why did you do that?" he said, and took a pull of smoke.

"Because I think you're insanely sexy," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"You do?"

She rolled her eyes. "Would I have given you a hand job if I'd thought you were a sleazy bastard riddled with disease? No! I gave you one because you are a handsome, down-to-earth young man who needs some lovin'." She thought for a moment. "And I love blonde men."

He blushed. "You think I'm handsome?"

"Yeah. I do. Very handsome." She smiled. "That's why I was so surprised that you didn't have a girlfriend."

"I thought you were a lesbian." He tipped his head back and blew smoke rings, closing his eyes. He was feeling worn out.

"I do like chicks, and I dress like a dyke, but my preference is men." She slumped beside him, folding her hands behind her head. "Never jump to conclusions, Jean Havoc."

He chuckled. "Yeah…but most of the time it's safe to assume." He took a final drag of smoke and stubbed out his cigarette. "Did you only give me a hand job because you think I'm hot?"

She shrugged. "I haven't had time to learn much about you. But I like what I know so far."

"Do you always move this fast when you like someone?"

"You're the farthest I've gotten with anyone."

He sat up. "What, seriously?"

She turned and gave him a bored look. "Yeah. I did say not to jump to conclusions."

"That was the best hand job I've had in my life."

"That was the only hand job you've had in your life."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Christ, you're a piece of work." He scratched the back of his neck, thinking, and decided upon the direct approach. "Would you like to sleep with me tonight?"

She grinned. "I thought you'd never ask."


	3. In which there is sex and pillow talk

The silences were comfortable. That's what she noticed most. When she ran out of things to say to him, the gaps unfilled by words went filled with smoke, there was no feeling of vague dread or apprehension, just…quiet. She liked it.

He cooked dinner, a simple throw-all soup of things he had leftover in the fridge. It was filling and warm, with a rich, meaty broth. The television was left on, and the dishes stacked loosely on the table.

He pulled her upstairs, that smirk stamped across her face again. He sat on the edge of his bed (obviously unmade) and began to strip, his heart pounding with anticipation.

"Whoa whoa whoa, hold on a second there, Casanova." She crossed her arms. "Have you got any Vaseline?"

He blinked, his gaze inadvertently wandering to his bedside table. Kleenex tissues and lubrication sat blatantly next to the lamp.

"That'll do. How about condoms?"

"I'm a virgin."

"Yeah, but I'm a chick." She tapped the side of her head. "Think about it for a second!"

He sighed and pulled open a drawer in the table, taking out a box of them. "Look, there, are you happy now?"

"Yes." He began pulling his clothes off again, and she grabbed his collar. "Now, cut that out! I'm going to undress you myself, you crazy son of a bitch."

He blinked in surprise as she pushed him over and climbed on top of him, leaning in and kissing him with passion. Her hands slipped from his shoulders and down to the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. She traced his collarbone, and then slid down and massaged his chest, straying to caress his nipple, and he gasped. She smirked, skimming down and grabbing his crotch, nuzzling the ridge of one of his scars.

"It doesn't take a lot to get you hard, does it?" she said, squeezing. He groaned, twitching. "Do you want me to be on top, or should I let you take over?"

He shook his head, his face flushed. She dipped to his neck, kissing and nipping. He suddenly became very aware that her hips were jammed against his, his cock pressing into her abdomen. She finally pulled her tent-like sweatshirt off, swept her hair out of her eyes with one hand. She was petite, very petite, wearing nothing but a black camisole underneath. Small waist, small hips, small breasts. He reached up and grabbed them, rolling them gently.

"They're just palm-sized to you," she muttered, not quite meeting his gaze. Hima slid lower, out of his grasp, and began tugging at his belt again. He frowned, sitting up.

"Something wrong?" He rubbed the back of his neck.

Her brow furrowed and she tossed his belt aside. "No, nothing. Now shut up so we can have sex."

"Oy, look, if you're going to be a bitch, then you can go find some other guy to fuck. Christ, I don't have to put up with this."

She growled and began fumbling with his fly. "I've got small tits and I'm afraid I'm not big enough for you, okay, hotshot?" She tore his pants off and went for his boxers, her jaw set. Grabbing her wrists gently, he leaned into her ear.

"Hey, hey, don't worry about it, Hima-chan." His voice dropped lower, and she became deliciously aware of how sensual, how smoke-honed it was. "I want you," he murmured.

She blushed in spite of herself, giving a soft sound of approval as he kissed her neck. He slipped his boxers off and hoisted her into his lap, his lips moving down to her collarbone, hand sliding beneath her camisole, drawing it off. She reached down and began taking her jeans off, and he put his face between her breasts, nipping gently and licking. Slipping her jeans and boxers off, she pushed him backwards again, grabbing his hand and putting it between her legs. He froze, biting his lip, seeming lost at what to do.

"Err…" His blush deepened. "What am I…?"

"Put your fingers inside and then go like this," she said, and made a come-hither motion with her fingers. "Just on that rough patch there." He did so, marvelling at the warmth of her, and she hissed, reaching down to his hand and placing his thumb over her clitoris. "Now rub that in circles."

She moaned as he obliged, going to his neck and hungering at it. He cried out as she pinched his nipples, worrying them, his head tipping back. Immediately, she went to his jaw line, running her tongue up to his ear, gently nipped his earlobe.

"How bad do you want it?" she whispered, twisting his nipple. He moaned, and shuddered, his hips bucking slightly. "Tell me…"

He panted. "Bad, oh god…" He drew in a deep breath. "Please…"

She smirked and kissed him on the lips. "You're so cute when you're moaning in pleasure," she said, and licked his forehead. "Now just relax…"

She lifted herself off of him and gently slid back, grabbing the lube off his bedside table and slicking his cock down with it. His legs twitched, and she lubed herself as well; she then raised herself up and carefully directed him towards her entrance. She gasped, glancing downwards, her eyes widening, a grin spreading across her face.

"God, you're huge," she said, her voice a low growl.

"I'm what?" he said. She cocked an eyebrow, shaking her head.

"Huge," she repeated, "as in your cock is big. Jesus Christ, you're so amateur!" She tweaked his nipple teasingly, then began to lower herself onto him again. He took in a sharp breath of surprise as he slipped inside her, the warmth of her sending waves of euphoria up his body. She began to rock forwards and backwards, her eyes bright. He gasped, and she bent forwards slightly and began to play with his nipples with one hand, her other slipping between her legs to toy with her clitoris again. She was tight, so tight, and he moaned again, his hips bucking, hot tendrils of ecstasy winding their way up his body.

"Yes," she whispered, "yes, yes, yes!" She increased the pace, the bedsprings beginning to creak with movement, and he panted, rising up into a sitting position, suddenly, and cleaving her body to his, hungrily returning to her lips like a man dying of thirst. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, still grinding, faster, faster, reaching that wonderful, endlessly bright plateau before she gave a hiss of surprise, coming hard, shuddering in his arms. He groaned, her contractions bringing him almost to the edge, and she slowed slightly, the pleasure after orgasm becoming closer to pain, instead sliding her hand down his chest to his nipple and twisting it so hard it sent brilliant fireworks of ecstasy careening down his side, and he gave a sharp bark of alarm and pleasure, and she felt the gush of warmth inside her, a shiver running through his body.

He lay back, panting, and wiped his forehead. "You forgot about the condom," he breathed.

"I know. You bought the wrong size, you idiot." She rolled off of him, snuggling herself up to his side. "You got small ones." She grabbed his crotch, and punctuated each of her words with a jab to his chest. "THIS. IS. NOT. SMALL."

He raised himself up slightly, regarding his member quizzically. "It's not?"

She smacked herself in the forehead. "No! It's not! Most guys are around five inches fully erect, and you've got at least three inches on that!"

He blinked. "Oh."

"Next time you get a hard-on, tell me and I'll measure so I can prove it to you." She laid a wet kiss on his cheek, caressing his muscles gently.

"So…how often is this going to happen?"

She shrugged, folding her arms behind her head. "As often as we want it, I guess."

"Oh." He sat up, leaning down and grabbing his pants off the floor. Digging in the pockets, he extracted his cigarettes and his lighter, lit one and took a long drag. "Well, how often would you like it to happen?"

"Every day, maybe more than once a day." She rose and wrapped her arms around him, nuzzling his neck gently. "If you're up for it, of course."

He grinned. "Hell yes I'm up for it. That was great!"

"It'll probably get better," she said, running her hand under his pectoral muscle and just barely flicking his nipple. "Once we get to know each other a little more…"

He drew another lungful from his cigarette. "What was that rough patch you asked me to rub, inside of you?" he asked, and blew out delicate rings of smoke. She watched them dissolve into the air, writhing like snakes.

"It's called the G-spot," she said. "It's like…the place you need to stimulate to have a full-body orgasm. Guys have one too, inside the rectum."

"In my _ass._ Seriously?" He shot her a suspicious look.

"Yes, seriously. It's about three inches in and on the bottom half of it, as I understand it." She leaned in closer to his ear, sliding her hands to his lower back and running a finger down his spine. "We could try to find it, if you wanted…"

He frowned. "I don't really know. Isn't that kind of…well, gay? No offence or anything."

"If you're not fantasizing about your hand or whatever being a pulsating erect cock, then it's not gay." She kissed his neck. "It's getting late, you know."

"Yeah…yeah, all right." He ground out his cigarette, exhaling a final streamer of smoke. He turned, caressing her face, and kissed her gently. "You think we'll fall in love?"

"I could fall for you pretty easily." She nuzzled his jaw line. "You're very warm…"

"Looks like you proved the Colonel wrong pretty fuckin' fast." He paused, thought for a moment. "I bet he'll try to weasel out of it by saying that me getting laid by you doesn't count or some bullshit."

She grinned. "I have witnesses that say no such clause was put into effect when we placed the bet. He owes me money and he owes the rest of you a lot of beer."

"If you'd be shacked up with, say, Breda or Fuery, would they have gotten the same treatment?"

She pulled a face. "No, they wouldn't. I do not like fat guys and if I tried the same moves on the nerdy one he'd probably cry. He's hardly cute enough to warrant me trying, anyways."

"What about the Colonel himself?"

"Too cocky. I don't like arrogant bastards and he's nowhere near as handsome as you are, contrary to what he thinks." She turned to face him and ran her hands through his hair. "I like how shy and unconfident you are. It's adorable and kind of funny at the same time, considering that you could probably throw me to the ground and ravage me if you wanted to." Wrapping her arms around him, she yawned, snuggling closer to his body. He shifted and smoothed his hands up her side to cup her breasts, kissed her hair. She relaxed, feeling soothed by the ticking of his clock, his heartbeat, the sound of his breathing. "Good night, Jean," she murmured.

"'night, Hima-chan."


	4. In which there is Superman and bathing

Havoc awoke with a jerk.

"What the hell are you doing?" he grumbled, blinking sleep out of his eyes.

Hima was between his legs again, curiously observing his morning wood. She held up her measuring tape.

"Oh," he said, lying back down. "Carry on."

He rubbed his eyes as she measured him, scratching his chin.

"Eight and a half inches," she said, sitting up. She cracked her knuckles and rubbed her hands together. "Now, want me to get rid of this for you?"

"No no, don't do that, I gotta piss real bad," he replied, getting up. "Then I gotta shower…"

"We could shower together. It saves water, you know."

"Yeah, that's true…you may as well come on, then." He stood up and limped to the washroom. She followed, shutting the door and heading over to the bathtub.

"Do you prefer hot or cold showers?" she said, turning back towards him. She blinked. "What the hell?"

"Shut up!" he growled. "This is about the only way I can piss with a boner, okay?"

He was essentially in a Superman kind of position, his legs resting on top of the tank, arms outstretched and supporting himself, abdomen against the rim of the toilet. She raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk playing about her lips. "You look ridiculous."

"I know! Shut up!" He looked up, scowling. "If you had a dick you'd know how annoying this is!"

She sat on the edge of the bathtub, resting her chin on her fist. "Would you like me to have a dick?"

"What?! No! I'm not into that kind of thing! Ugh." He paused. "Oh, shit, how'm I supposed to get down from here now?"

"I was just wondering that myself," she drawled, smirking. He inched forwards, crawling with his hands, then stopped.

"This is not going to work," he growled, glaring down between his legs.

"If you tuck your penis behind you, you won't knock it against the rim of the toilet when you come down," she said dryly, inspecting her fingernails.

He sighed, looking back up at her. "You'd better be right. Could you give me a hand with that?"

She came over to him, his eyes flicking up and down her body quickly. Neither of them had bothered to put anything back on, and he swallowed, feeling a twinge of arousal beginning.

"Spread your legs," she said. He did, and she reached between them, intentionally caressing the insides of his thighs and cupping his balls, then taking hold of his member and folding it between his legs. "Now close them, and I'll keep hold of you while you pull yourself forwards with your hands."

He crawled forwards, while she kept hold of his legs, until she set him down on the floor, dusting her hands off. She knelt in front of him, grinning. "Are you going to come into the shower or not?" He got up, grabbing her arm and pulling her in with him.

The stream of water was freezing as it hit her back, and she yelped and grabbed hold of him. "Make it hot!" she cried. He rolled his eyes at her.

"It's not that cold."

"It's freezing!" She let go of him and hugged herself, shivering. He gently pulled her arms away and cupped her breasts, bending and suckling her nipples. She twitched slightly, leaned back and turned up the hot water. Immediately the stream turned warm, and she tipped her head back, letting the heat of the water and her arousal wash over her. She felt his lips on her breast, her collarbone, her neck. She slowly lowered herself down, letting him climb on top of her, guiding his hand to her entrance.

She glanced down sharply. He had his face between her legs, and ran his tongue between her labia.

"Show me what to do," he murmured, his voice hitting that low, sensual register. She directed him to her clitoris, and he began to work at it with his tongue, his lips. She gasped, bright tendrils of ecstasy weaving upwards, upwards, that low growl rolling from him again - "You taste so good…"

"Don't stop," she groaned, as he slipped his fingers inside of her, his memory serving him well, her hips rising upwards, her voice crescendoing, the pleasure rising and rising in her, "don't _stop!_" She moaned, her body vibrating with feeling, white-hot euphoria rushing over her.

She came, panting. He rose, his face flushed, tongue running over his lips, gathering her to him and thrusting into her, kissing her powerfully, her legs hooking around him and squeezing him tight, grinding against him.

"Fuck me," she whispered, her voice catching as she hit the crest of a wave of pleasure, "harder, you son of a bitch, harder, I want you…!"

He gave a deep snarl, his fingertips digging into her back, biting into her shoulder. Stiffening, he dug his teeth farther into her, his back arching, giving a final deep thrust, coming hard. She regarded her shoulder, his bitemark surprisingly deep, kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm going to be late," he panted. "This is the best morning ever."

She dismounted him, reaching to the side of the bathtub and grabbing the soap. She lathered her hands and smoothed them over his chest, leaving a foamy X over his pectorals. He turned around, and she soaped his back, massaging him gently, caressing every muscle and mile of his spine. He relaxed, soothed by her touch, giving a soft murmur of approval when she lathered his hair, her fingers massaging his scalp gently. She slipped over his shoulders to work his chest, working his nipples, her hands sliding down further to his lower abdomen, cupping his member.

"Hey, hey," he said, grasping her wrists again, "if you keep doing that, I really am going to be late."

She frowned. "You just said…"

"I'd rather not get chewed out by Mustang for the third time this week," he muttered, taking the soap from her and lathering his arms. "We could continue later on…"

She nuzzled him, licked his ear. "Yeah…we're going to have to, I think. You going to tell the guys at work about this?"

"Why, do you want me too?"

"I honestly don't care." She bit his earlobe gently. "I just wonder if Mustang would have a problem with his spin doctor sleeping with his subordinate…"

"I think we can keep this our little secret," he said, rising and rinsing himself off. "It's more fun that way."

"Yeah…" She began washing her hair. "You better hurry, or we'll both be late."

She had to admit, she liked being around him. He was a little rough around the edges - clearly a country boy, uncultured, maybe, but certainly not an idiot. She could detect a slight twang creeping into his conversation every once in a while, and she found it adorable. It fit perfectly into his white-boy looks and farmer's build. That was the other thing she liked - strong, muscled men. An image rose, unbidden, but not necessarily unwelcome, in her mind; Havoc, in nothing but a pair of denim overalls, a yoke slung across his broad shoulders, his eyes half-lidded, cigarette dangling from his lips, face shaded by a straw hat. The denim drawn tight across his chest, his biceps flexed and rock-hard; and, following the lines of his body downwards...

She gave a dreamy sigh, and he turned and gave her a quizzical look.

"What're you so happy about?"

"What isn't there to be happy about?" She smiled at him.

"I'unno. Being late?"

"Oh, it's not that big a deal." She stroked the side of his face. "Give him a smile and a wink and you can wiggle out of trouble. A pretty face can get you everywhere, Jean Havoc."

He blushed slightly and kissed her on the cheek. "Same goes for you."

"Yeah, I think I'm going to fall for you." She ran her fingers through his wet hair. "Let's go get dressed, yeah?"


	5. In which Mustang is unnerved

Of course they were late. Mustang shot the pair of them a dirty look, his hands on his hips.

"Late again, Second Lieutenant?" he said, tapping his foot.

Havoc flushed slightly, trying not to let his eyes wander back towards Hima. She was dressed much more femininely today, wearing an enticingly cut skirt and a tanktop. He swallowed, staring at his feet. "I…err…"

"He spilled an entire cup of coffee all down his uniform," Hima drawled, rolling her eyes.

Mustang smirked, shaking his head. "Is that all? You need to get laid, Havoc."

Hima chuckled to herself softly, leaning over a desk and rummaging in her bag. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Falman lean back in his chair, his eyebrows raised.

"Yes?" she said warningly. He lost his balance and toppled over. She growled to herself, returning to her bag and drawing out her pen and pad of paper. "So, Mr. Mustang, anything interesting going on lately?"

"Besides your little bet? Not a huge amount," he said, rubbing his chin. "Any luck with that, by the way?"

She scribbled something down. "More than you know," she muttered, sotto voce.

"Hn?"

"Oh, none as of yet. I know I'll find someone for him." She chewed on the end of her pen.

The Colonel grinned. Havoc, bent over behind a stack of papers, allowed himself a vague smile as he lit a cigarette.

"What're you smiling about, you slacker? You've got a lot of paperwork to do," Mustang said sharply, glaring at Havoc.

"The same could be said of you, Colonel," said the ice-blonde woman, her freezing gaze falling upon Mustang. He scowled, and stalked off to his desk, which was in a separate office, but quite open with both its doors flung wide. He slumped into his chair and grabbed a random envelope. He slit it open and began to read, his expression becoming graver as he continued down the page.

"Hawkeye, when did this come in?" he said solemnly.

"Just this morning, sir."

"Right." He re-read it, rising. "I need to go speak with a few people. I'll be back in a moment." He stalked off, his face troubled. Hawkeye trailed after him, giving the rest of the men a warning look. When they left, Havoc rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, thumbing through a newspaper. Falman picked himself up and began to studiously go through the pile of papers on his in-tray.

"Hey, Falman, are we going to the ranges today?" Havoc said around his cigarette.

"No. That's on Wednesdays."

"What's today?"

"Tuesday."

"Oh." He took a drag of smoke. "Feels like Wednesday."

Hima gave a heavy sigh. "Is this _ALL_ you guys do?"

Havoc shrugged. "Sometimes we go on exercise and practice blowin' shit up."

"It's to train for real combat, Havoc."

"Yeah, that."

"But seriously, what do you guys do in between?" she grumbled.

"Paperwork," came the unanimous reply.

She put her palm to her forehead. "Why did I agree to this job? Soldiers are supposed to do _interesting_ things. Like...like...reconnaisance and-and...stealth ops!"

"You wouldn't be allowed to report on those anyways," Havoc said, idly sorting through his in-tray. "Covert ops are strictly high-security."

She growled. "Dammit. Give me something interesting to report on! ANYTHING!"

Havoc was silent for a moment. "Uhh...the new Bond film is slated to be out next year...?"

"That isn't funny." She huffed.

"What are you writing?"

"I'm not. I'm doodling."

"Oh."

"Is anything going to happen today?"

"Probably not."


	6. In which there is dirty talk and food

And nothing did. Mustang coasted in and out of the room, brooding and pensieve, Hawkeye trailing him like a severe ghost. Something was amiss, obviously, but not quite amiss enough to warrant a briefing of the men. She was half-tempted to pull him aside and claim her winnings, but his expression was so grave, she decided against it.

Walking home with Havoc was pleasant. They talked; about what, she didn't remember, but she began to feel a kind of irresistable closeness to him. She knew him carnally, which in itself was satisfying (very much so), but there was a certain intimacy she felt they lacked.

"Hey, what do think of kids?" he asked abruptly.

She blinked. "Isn't it a _little_ early to be thinking about that?"

"Not really." He took a final drag of his cigarette and ground it out under his heel before entering the house. "I can't stand the little bastards and I hope you can't stand'em either. Nothing scares the crap outta me more then those batshit insane chicks who spend ridiculous amounts of cash on fertility treatments and shit so they can spew out one screaming bundle of joy who'll be a leech on society for the rest of its miserable, spoiled little life."

"Jesus Christ, Havoc, tell us how you _really_ feel, why don't you." She shook her head. "I haven't got a maternal bone in my body. Talking to kids is like talking to drunk people, except smaller and possibly more incoherent."

"Yes, thank god." He took her hand and shook it. "You are a good woman, Hima."

She grinned. "You too."

"Hey, _Die Hard_ is on television tonight. Want to watch it?"

"Sure thing." She embraced him from behind, nuzzling his back and slipping her hands under his waistband. "Want to have sex later...?"

"Absolutely." He extracted her hands and went to slump onto the couch. "Not now, though, I need to relax a bit."

She snuggled beside him, and he flicked the television on. It was quiet; he smoked, she rested her head on his chest. A time passed; he sighed, stretched.

"Hey, Havoc," she said, slyly, "ever heard of pegging...?"

He rubbed his chin. "No, I haven't. What is it? Some kinky sex thing?"

"Yes."

"Do I want to know what it is?"

"I want you to know what it is." She leaned on him, drawing circles on his chest, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's when the girl wears a strap-on dildo and fucks the guy in the ass."

He didn't answer for a moment. "Aaaaand you want to try it."

"Yes."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because I want to have you moaning in my arms." A grin spread across her face as he blushed. She climbed up further and went to his ear, lowering her voice. "Completely at my mercy, I want you to come so hard you scream, and then do it again and again and again until you can't take any more." She licked him, giving a deep chuckle.

He seemed lost for words. "I, uhh...I..."

"You...?"

"I, uhh..." He swallowed, his gaze dropping. "Th-that could be fun." His face was flaming red.

She smiled. "First, you have to find your G-spot. Now, there are...toys you can use to find it, or you could just use your hand, or I could try to find it..."

"I-I'd like a toy..." he stuttered. She kissed him lightly on the lips.

"No need to be so shy. If you want it, go for it. Nobody's judging you on what you want." He glanced upwards, his face still flushed.

"It's embarassing, though, don't you think...?"

"Nah. I don't." She kissed him again. "Is there anything you want to try?"

He nodded. "C-can we talk about it some other time, though?"

She reached under his shirt and pulled on his nipples. "No, we can't." He groaned, his head tipping back. "Tell me..."

"Okay! Fine!" He looked away, his ears turning red now. "Bondage and tittyfucking!"

"Now we're getting somewhere. At the same time?"

"Fuck, I don't know! Why are you asking me this?!"

"I want to know! I can't enjoy myself if you're not enjoying yourself!" She tweaked his nipples again.

"Agh! Will you cut that out?! You're getting me hard!"

"I know!" She relented and backed off. "Honesty is nice, you know. Girls like that."

He tugged his shirt back down with indignance. "I don't know if I can call you a girl in the traditional sense of the word."

"Hey, just because I don't like ponies or wear makeup or the colour pink and I love sex doesn't mean I'm not a girl." She put her hands on her hips. "It just makes me different."

"I like it." He came forwards and put his arms around her waist. "Now...do you mind showing me these toys...?"

She winked. "Come on."

She took him upstairs, to where she'd stowed her bags. She riffled through them and extracted a rather square bag, bright yellow, and unzipped it.

"You have...a lot of toys," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"I like to masturbate," she said matter-of-factly. "Ah, here it is." She pulled out an unopened box, the words "Pearl of the Orient" emblazened on its side. "This is brand-new. I bought it before I left and haven't had a chance to try it out, yet." She handed it to him, and he opened it, curious. He pulled out a dildo, about five inches long, phlanged at the base, chrome and with a small control. Three settings. He flicked it to the first one.

"Jesus fuck that's powerful," he said, his eyes going wide, the buzz running up his forearm. She nodded.

"You want it?"

"What, really?" He was blushing again, and bit his lip. "I...hnn..."

"If you want it, you can have it. Like I said, I haven't had a chance to use it yet, and since you're interested..." She grinned. "I could tie you up and find it for you. That could be fun."

"M-maybe some other time...?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I want to experiment, b-but it does seem too soon."

She nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I see your point. It's just _exciting_, you know, to have a great guy like you essentially fall into my lap."

"Literally."

She stretched and lay down on the bed. "It still baffles me how no other girl'd jumped you before I got to you." He set the dildo down on his bedside table and sat down, lighting another cigarette. "It's kind of like they're all fuckin' blind or something."

He leaned back, exhaling a streamer of smoke. "I dunno. I screwed it up a fucking hell of a lot of times. I get near a cute girl and I just choke."

"So how come you don't choke around me?"She shuffled closer to him, running her hand down his side.

"Most of the time it's kind of like just talking to one of the guys, only you--"

She pushed him onto his back and straddled him, squeezed his sides with her legs.

"--do things like this," he said, his face colouring.

"Let's fuck, Havoc," she said, "I've been wanting to get you alone all day. Feel up to it right now?"

He closed his eyes, taking a drag on his cigarette. "You're like every guy's dream, Hima," he said.

"So you say. I think a lot of guys would object to being dominated like this."

"I don't mind it. It's kind of fun, you know?" He took another pull of smoke, raised his hand, toyed with her hair, caressed the side of her face. "Maybe we could just talk for a while...?"

"Okay." She dismounted and snuggled beside him. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Anything. You. Where're you from?" He nuzzled her.

"I'm an army brat. Born smack in the middle of the country and moved up north when I was two. And you?"

"I'm a country boy born and raised."

"I can hear it," she murmured, resting her forehead against his chest. His scent was cigarettes and just the bare lingering edge of aftershave. "It's very cute."

"Can you? Damn, I swear I'd gotten rid of it." He sat up and pulled his jacket off, smoothing down his tousled hair with a hand. "It's kinda hard being the only guy on the patch who sounds like a complete hick. You learn them cityfolk talk pretty fast that way." He shook his head, chuckled. "Fuckin' crazy shit goes down in the army, I tell ya. Too many guys and not enough chicks to go around makes for stupidity."

"What kind of women do you really like?" She wrapped her arms around him, half-straddling him. "As in, if you had to pick for yourself the kind of women you'd spend a hot night with in Vegas or something. Not looks-wise, but purely on personality."

"What do you mean...?"

"I'm asking you, in a roundabout way, whether you're a dom, a sub, or a switch," she said matter-of-factly.

He gave her a confused look. "What are you talking about?"

She sighed, came around in front of him, and pushed him down, mounting him. "It's really easy. In this case, with me on top, and you on the bottom, I'm the dom, and you're the sub. A switch is someone who enjoys playing either role." She got off of him and kissed him lightly on the nose.

"You're going to yank on my nipples again if I don't answer, aren't you?" he said, yawning. "Well, to be perfectly honest, I think I'm kind of a sub. It's...just kind of hot, to have to trust someone like that. It's fucking hot." He paused, and added, "Really fucking hot."

"I think having a powerful, strong man moaning like a virgin in my arms is the sexiest thing on the planet," she whispered, shifting herself so that her hips were wedged against his, beginning to grind slowly, "to bring him to the edge, and then pull back...dragging it out as long as I can..."

He blushed. "I take it you're a dom...?"

"Switch, actually." She gave a small, secretive smile. "You could tie me up and smack me around any time..."

He kissed the side of her face. "I might take you up on that. You hungry at all?"

"A little...could do with something..." She dismounted and snuggled beside him. "Whatever you wanna do."

He took a final pensieve drag on his cigarette. "Bah, fuck it, I don't feel like cooking. We're ordering out. Preferences?"

"Chinese, if it's cool with you."

"I was thinkin' the exact same thing. I'll be back in a moment."

In the brief moment he was gone, she stripped down to her undergarments, and then laid down on her side, that smirk playing about her lips again. He came back up, saw her, and turned brick red.

Her eyes wandered down his body, fixating just below his belt for a second, then slipping back up to his pectorals, then to his face, her grin widening. She beckoned him over, and he straddled her, kissing her, putting his face between her breasts and nipping them gently. She gasped, and he growled, practically tearing her remaining clothes off, wildly grabbing her and turning her on to her stomach, fumbling with his fly.

She yelped. He blinked, and she turned around furiously and grabbed the lube off the nightstand. "If you wanted to try anal you could've warned me!"

"I wasn't trying anal," he said, his face brilliant scarlet.

"Well, in that case, let me guide you." She spread her legs apart and indicated her entrance, carefully lubricating herself. "You were fine this morning."

"You were on your back this morning."

"You're the one who wanted to do it doggy-style! Now shut your pretty-boy mouth and fuck me!"

He grabbed onto her hips and thrust into her, groaning. She shuddered, submitting to the wonderful feeling of him deep inside her, raising her hips and lowering her torso, gripping onto the bedsheets. He groped forwards and grasped her breasts, laying his head between her shoulderblades and letting the ecstacy take him, rocking him like a wave.

"Did you shave today?" she asked breathlessly, her hips twitching. "You're scratching me up with your stubble."

He gave an odd half-laugh, half-moan, shuddering. "God almighty, you do make this interesting, don't you?"

She was silent, panting. She felt sweat begin to bead along the muscles in her back and on her forehead after a time; her legs began to tremble, the penetration sending deep echoes of pleasure up her body, and--

The doorbell rang.

Havoc groaned. "Ohh, Hima-chan..."

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"The doorbell!"

"Huh?"

It rang again, more insistantly.

"Fuck. Fuck!" He pulled out of her reluctantly, kneeling on the edge of the bed. "I can't go down there like this!"

"Give me the cash and I'll get it," she said, coming and sitting next to him. He nodded, leaning and grabbing his wallet. She took it, feeling that warm, delectable wetness between her legs, and slid her hand across that wonderful triangle formed between his navel and his cock. "You keep this warm for me," she murmured, rising and wrapping his housecoat around herself. He watched her go, his eyes fixated on her hips; she was swaying them in an incredibly enticing, sexy way.

"Wonder if anyone's ever told her how fucking adorable she is," he muttered, feeling his pounding heart beginning to slow slightly. He sighed, running a hand over his chest, toying with his nipples, and within a few minutes, she came back up, carrying the bag of food. She set it down next to the door, her eyes bright, and within an instant she was on top of him, and there was an explosion of heat as she slid him back inside her; and there came the explosion of her orgasm later on, the warmth of her breath on his neck, the sun-bright sparkle of pain as she raked her fingers down his back, flash of ecstacy as she bit into his pectoral, and finally, the huge, incontainable feeling of orgasm, as he came with a low moan, his hips bucking into hers uncontrollably, the bright plateau rising and running on longer than ever before.

She gently extracted him from her and collapsed beside him, pulling him onto his side and kissing him passionately, running her tongue between his lips, making out with him for a long, slow minute.

When she pulled away, she said, "I'm fucking exhausted now..."

He nuzzled her gently as she relaxed, a twanging hunger cramp sending his eyes over to the bag of food by the doorway. "I thought you were hungry."

"Shh," she murmured, taking a deep breath. "Let me nap a bit, sweetheart..."

He ruffled her hair and went to the door, grabbing the bag, turning back for a moment. "I'll be downstairs with the food if you want any," he said. She snuffled and waved a lazy hand at him.


	7. In which there is sweet talk and sleep

The takeout was passable at best. He wiped his mouth with a slight frown of disdain and began to clear away his dishes when she plodded down the stairs, rubbing her eyes.

"I don't know why I'm so _sleepy_," she muttered, and ran a hand back through her hair. "Maybe it's all the sex." She paused for a moment. "Not that that's a bad thing at all."

He chuckled slightly. "Hungry?"

"No..." She yawned. "I want to fall asleep with you. Just kinda nestled in your arms..."

"It's only nineteen hundred hours."

"I did say I was tired."

He sighed. "All right, but I get control of the remote, got it?"

She nodded.

They went into the living room, and she snuggled herself up against his chest. He lay on his side, noticing how fresh her hair smelled, and let her settle, resting her head in the crook of his chin.

"I'm thinking about taking the day off tomorrow," he said slowly.

"Why would you do that?" she murmured.

"I want to spend it with you," he said. "Just us."

"Doing what?"

"We'll go downtown or somethin', go watch some movies and eat out." He paused. "Come home early and fuck your brains out."

"Aren't we forward?" She smiled slightly. "That sounds wonderful." She wiggled slightly, working in closer to him. "But, I'd wait until the weekend. It'd be silly to miss work over me."

"I was thinkin' about that, but it seems...more special if we did it during the work week."

"Well...I shouldn't really miss any days this week...how about next Tuesday?"

"All right, then." He kissed the top of her hair. "Am I allowed to call you my woman, yet?" he asked, nuzzling her ear.

"Only if I can call you my man."

"Deal."


	8. In which there are pirates and a coverup

The following day, Mustang and Hawkeye were gravely flitting about again, while Hima sat at a battered typewriter and began bashing out a draft for her first article. She was amazingly oblivious to all noises and commotions, her brow furrowed, chewing her lip. Occasionally she'd swig from a waterbottle and mutter to herself, crossing things off of her ever-present notepad. Havoc found himself fascinated by her, often catching himself watching the way her hair fell across her face, or her lips moved, or how deliciously pale her neck was--

"Oy!"

Breda's voice broke through his reverie. "What the hell is with you today?! You've been zoned out since you came in this morning, Havoc."

Havoc blinked and sheepishly stood up. "S-sorry, Breda."

"It's your turn to do a paper run. Now move your ass."

"Yessir." He felt his gaze wandering back towards Hima, who'd taken no notice of him, but shut his eyes and forcibly pushed the thought away. Breda gave him an odd look and began to head towards the door.

He sighed and lit a cigarette, running a hand through his hair. This was so awkward. He couldn't stop fantasizing about pushing her down onto a desk and--

He felt her hand on his belt.

"Second Lieutenant, can I ask you a few questions?" she asked sweetly. "I'll only keep him for a few minutes, Mr. Breda."

Breda frowned slightly, then sighed. "Better hurry and catch up, Havoc. I'll go on ahead."

He nodded. "What is it you need, H--"

The door shut, she yanked him down and kissed him hungrily.

Within minutes, she'd pulled him into a random office and had him as hard as rock; she played with his nipples, which always drove him crazy, and had learned that nibbling his ears would make his hips buck almost instantly. He thought for a moment that this office, with its huge window-wall draped with red velvet curtains, seemed somewhat familiar, but the thought disintegrated the instant she popped open his fly.

"Ahhh!" he yelped, her warm lips folding over his exposed head, her fingers clamping down on his erect nipples, resulting in a sudden explosion of ecstatic sparkles firing through his body. She began to move slowly, teasingly up and down his shaft, leaving him helpless and moaning, on the verge of--

"What the _flying fuck_ do you two think you're _doing_?!" Roy Mustang barked.

Havoc came.

Unable to contain himself, he let out a low howl of pleasure, his toes curling within his boots. Hima finished and stood up, swallowing surreptitiously.

"You're going to have to start eating more pineapple, Havoc," she said.

Mustang was red in the face. "What in the name of _god?!_ What in the name of _god_ are you two _DOING _in here?!"

"I was giving Second Lieuntenant Jean Havoc a blowjob, Colonel Mustang," Hima said, wiping her mouth on a hankerchief. Havoc whimpered slightly, temporarily immobilized.

"_Why the fuck in my office?!_"

"It was unlocked."

Havoc lay back slightly, his heartbeat slowing. Hima slid her hand up his thigh, smirking.

Mustang spluttered. "Get _OUT!_"

"You owe me 750, by the way," she said, primly redressing Havoc.

"You owe ME a new desk!"

"Oh come now, it's not like we got anything on it." She patted Havoc on the groin, and he sat up, his face flushed.

"I knew this place looked familiar," he muttered, and lit a cigarette.

A vein throbbed in the Colonel's forehead as he gestured madly but futilely, mute in his rage.

"Boss, uhh..." Havoc began haltingly, arousal stripping off into cold fear. He took a drag on his cigarette, glancing at Hima.

"We've been fucking like rabbits since you shacked us up together."

"Yeah, that."

Roy Mustang sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and slumped against the wall.

"Are you quite all right, Colonel?" Hima asked innocently.

"There's a fucking disaster going on right now, half of our guns are slipshod and prone to jamming and now _two of my subordinates are fucking in my goddamned office!_"

Hima was silent for a moment. "I'm not in the Army. And oral sex isn't fucking, it's foreplay."

Mustang made a bizarre, infuriated sound somewhere between a groan, a growl, and a screech.

Havoc rubbed the back of his neck. "Sir, I--"

"Get out."

Hima took Havoc's hand and they moved towards the exit. The Colonel remained still until they left, then grabbed Warrant Officer Fuery, the coke-bottle glasses nerd, and had his desk scrubbed down.

"What the hell happened?" Warrant Officer Falman asked as Hima brushed past him.

"Uhh...nothing important, nothing important," Havoc said vaguely, going back to his desk. Hima returned to her typewriter and began to type again, her face regaining that look of extreme focus.

"Check your desk for one of these," Falman said, holding up a thick yellow envelope marked "CONFIDENTIAL". "Hawkeye's giving them out. It looks quite grave."

Havoc thanked him and took a seat, picking up the envelope and turning it over in his hands before slitting it open and drawing out the stack of papers. He read the top page, his eyes widening.

"You're fucking kidding me," he said, turning and looking at Falman.

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

"But they've been inactive since the 80's! My dad used to scare me with stories about them!"

The thud of Hima's typewriter slowed slightly.

"I know, I know." Falman checked his watch. "There's a briefing in the Colonel's office in five minutes."

Havoc paled slightly and turned back to the papers. "Yeah, yeah...there would be...yeah..."

He stood in front of the Colonel's desk several minutes later, pointedly avoiding the superior's gaze as the other men mulled around, aimlessly waiting for orders. Mustang looked extremely disgruntled, that pulsing vein still showing slightly. There was a faint throb of bleach in the air.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye, please get Miss L'eaublanc in here," he grumbled. As she went off to retrieve Hima, Mustang stood up and began to pace.

_-He's never done that before,_ Havoc thought. _-I guess he doesn't wanna touch that desk. _Hima entered a second later, with Hawkeye following.

"At ease, men."

Hima stood nonchalantly beside Havoc, looking bored. Mustang took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair.

"Having now read your briefing orders, I believe you understand what is at stake here, but for the benefit of Miss L'eaublanc, I feel it is best if I spell it out clearly."

"You may have heard stories as children of a ruthless, cruel group of smugglers, with varying names, usually along the line of Sunstar Pirates. Notorious for their venom against their enemies, they've been wanted for years, but for the past two decades, nobody's seen hide nor hair of them. The last job they pulled off resulted in twenty million dollars worth of damages and over one hundred casualties. You may recall it - the storming of seventeen federal banks on December 3rd, 1888."

"T'was a bloody day, when I got the word, of the pirates' slaughter on December the third," Falman muttered. "My dad used to recite that all the time."

Mustang nodded. "It has been somewhat glamourized over the years, yes. Are you familiar with this story, Miss L'eaublanc?" The vein in his forehead pulsed slightly once. Hima tried not to stare.

"My father was there the day it happened, actually," she drawled. "He was the first to report what had happened to the papers."

This was met by murmurs of shock.

"You're fucking kidding me," Breda said.

"I'm not. That's how he met my mother. She was part of one of the regiments that was called in to combat them, and he interviewed her afterwards, they hit it off, and boom, here I am." She smiled dryly. "It was a rather serendipitous meeting."

Mustang raised an eyebrow and resumed pacing. "Fascinating. Now that that has been established, where do we come in? It has been brought to the attention of the Fuhrer that this little ragtag band of soldiers has outshone all others in terms of undercover operations. We are being sent in along with Colonel Bassinger's and Colonel Ruetger's men to scout out the location suspected to house part of the Sunstar Pirates' weapons smuggling ring. It is to be done quickly, quietly, and efficiently. There is no room for SNAFUs here, gentlemen."

"Situation normal: all fucked up," Havoc muttered. Hima nodded and made a quick note.

"Colonel Mustang, where do I fit into this? I was under the impression I wasn't supposed to report on this sort of thing."

"Ahh, well," smirked the officer, "You're not allowed to report on it until the operation is complete. Then, I've been told to request that you do a special report on it, to be sold to newspaper agencies nation-wide."

"So, you're dragging me along so you and the other superior officers can have their egos stroked afterwards."

Mustang stared at her incredulously. "Are you always this cynical?" he said.

"Mmm-hmm. It's what gets me through this job." She wrote a few things down.

The Colonel shook himself. "There are further instructions on the operation contained within the envelopes you were given earlier today. It's imperative that we move quickly - know them back to front by tomorrow morning and we're going to do a run-through of our part daily for the next week. The op is scheduled to begin next Saturday. Is that quite clear?"

"Sir yes sir!" came the sharp reply.

"Wonderful. Back to work, you slackers."

As the troops began to mill towards the door, and Havoc tried to slip away, Mustang called after him.

"Get back here, you two."

Havoc blanched, turning sheepishly back into the office. Hima gave a quick sigh and trailed after Havoc. The Colonel seated himself, drumming his fingers on the desktop. Havoc felt sweat begin to bead at the back of his neck and roll beneath his collar, but the superior officer remained impassive, his expression blank. Hima rested her hands on her hips, turning and gazing at her typewriter.

"Okay, look. Whatever the hell you two have been up to, keep it quiet. The only other person who knows is Hawkeye, and you know how tightlipped she is. I'm keeping you both separate when we go on this op. I don't want the Second Lieutenant's girlish moans to give away our location." Mustang ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. "Got it?"

Havoc reddened. "Understood, sir."

"This never happened. You two never screwed on my desk, or at all."

Hima frowned. "You owe this platoon a night of drinking, _sir_," she said, crossing her arms. The Colonel's vein throbbed once.

"AFTER this clusterfuck is over and done with. Okay?" He reached into his in-tray, took out a stack of papers, and began to skim through them. "If anyone asks, I'm getting you to proofread Havoc's work, Miss L'eaublanc. You are dismissed."

"Is his spelling that bad?"

Havoc turned even redder, and he fidgeted with his lighter in embarassment. "I kinda read slow and I'm not so good at spelling," he mumbled, taking out a cigarette.

"The short answer is yes," Mustang said. "Listen, I have a fuckton of work to do, so I'm going to have to ask you both to leave."

Hima nodded. "Good luck with getting the operation together, Colonel," she said. He waved a hand in thanks, and they exited.

Back in the workroom, Breda shot Havoc a suspicious look. "Did you ever go on that paper run I told you to do ages ago?"

"He was too busy stuttering out answers," Hima drawled. "I think he's somewhat embarassed about walking in on me in the shower this morning."

Breda blinked. "Shouldn't you've locked the door?"

"Why should I have to? I'm not worried about being raped. I've got no beef about Senor Rubio seeing me naked, he was born naked and screaming just like I was." She sat back down in her chair and cracked her knuckles. Breda blinked again, somewhat taken aback by her straightforwardness.

"Well, okay. Go get that done now, will ya, Havoc?"

"Yessir." He glanced over at Hima, who gave the faintest of smiles and resumed typing.


	9. In which there are more lewd acts

"Why the hell did you do that?" Havoc asked her as they were walking home.

"You were driving me insane! You kept giving me that sultry 'come hither' look with those baby blue eyes of yours, and it's not exactly like you were resisting me or anything." She paused as he unlocked the front door and entered, slipping her shoes off. He gave her an odd look as she watched him take his uniform off.

"Something wrong?"

"You're so fucking sexy," she breathed, her face flushing. "I want you right now..."

"We just got home." He slipped off his jacket and hung it on the banister. "And I'm kinda tired and a little worried that maybe this's gone too far too fast."

She frowned. "How come you're complaining _now_?"

"I was just thinking that we should take it back a few steps," he continued, lighting a cigarette. "Like watching each other masturbate..."

She looked up sharply, a mischevious smile playing around his lips.

He leaned forwards, his eyes half-lidded and glittering slightly. "Or masturbating each other..." And then he rose, seized her and pushed her into the wall, dipping down and nipping her earlobe. "Or, I could rip your clothes to pieces, throw you down, and make you all mine..."

She looked upwards, her face flushed red, her heart hammering as he slid one hand down her thigh and beneath the skirt she was wearing. He chuckled slightly as he touched the nude flesh where here panties were supposed to be, licking her neck.

"You were planning that all along, weren't you?" he murmured, and she shivered in delight as he put on _that voice_, that incredible spine-melting _voice_. "Weren't you...?"

She whimpered, her whole form quivering with want. "Take me, Jean..." she whispered, pulling herself forwards, feeling the warmth of his body curved into hers, and to her immense surprise, in a flash of dominance she'd never suspected he had, he grabbed her bodily and threw her onto his shoulder, his free hand slipping under her skirt to lightly tease her. She cried out and twisted around as he carried her up the stairs, toying with her, and tossing her onto his bed. He climbed on top of her afterwards and sealed his lips to hers, the bitter taste of cigarettes strangely arousing, his hands kneading her pert breasts incessantly. He groaned, shivering slightly, then gave a deep growl and yanked her shirt off, beginning to work at the points of her nipples with his lips, tongue, and teeth. Her back arched, wrapping her arms around him and groaning, grinding her hips against his.

"F-fuck me," she gasped, "_goddammit_, you whore, don't w-waste my fucking time, just _cram it into me!_"

He growled, and bit down into her flesh, sending a wall of heat down her side, before rising and straddling her stomach, the material of his pants drawn taut by his erection. He popped open his fly and extracted his member, his face flushed with arousal, his jaw set, grinning slightly. He leaned over and grabbed the lubrication off the table, that air of mischief returning to his eyes. He squeezed a large amount into the palm of his hand and slicked himself down with it before rubbing more of it between her breasts, shuffling forwards slightly.

She frowned. "Are you doing what I think you're do--"

He grabbed both of her breasts and squeezed them together. "Hold those like that," he murmured, and began to thrust in and out of them as she obliged. "Fuck that's good," he gasped, and shivered.

"You're gonna blow your load way too fast if you don't calm down a bit," she chided, but he just moaned and slid one hand up to pluck at his nipples. "You're gonna hit me in the face..."

He chuckled slightly, leaning back and running his free hand between her legs and toying with her clitoris between two fingers. "I'm so close," he breathed, his back arching, "I'm so close..."

His thrusts became "deeper", his head flashing closer and closer to her lips with each upstroke. He began to pant, sweat beading slightly on his forehead, and she wriggled in delight, listening to the delicious sounds he made, feeling the build-up of her arousal tensing and heating her lower body, before his voice crescendoed, his head arcing back, hips giving one final pump before he came. She blinked in surprise, feeling the blood-hot fluid splash onto her face and neck. He panted, shivering, sliding back down and licking a dribble of his semen from the curve of her chin.

"Oh god," he panted, "oh god..."

He began to kiss her neck all over, lapping up his own secretions desperately, groaning and gathering her to him. She immediately pressed her hips to his and wrapped her legs around him, her hands slipping down her sides to the inside of her thigh, beginning to tease the bud of her clitoris with her thumb.

He squeezed her tight and moaned into her ear, "You're so fucking _cute_ when you're covered in jizz!"

Hima burst out laughing. "What the hell is all this about, Havoc? You didn't tell me you were into bukakke!"

"Is that what it's called?" he breathed. "Gets me so fucking hard, good god..."

"I told you you'd blow it too quickly. What're you going to do for me while we're waiting for you to get it back up again, huh?"

He took a deep breath and lay still for a moment, closing his eyes. "Give me a moment, baby...I did say I was tired..."

"That didn't stop me, you know."

"You don't have a penis." He rolled onto his side, wiping his forehead. "God, this is so fucking insane."

"What is?" She shuffled closer to him.

"This. You and me, finally getting laid, finding a girl who'll put up with me, Jesus Christ, it's a mindfuck." He sighed. "But goddamn am I ever happy."

"It's my pleasure," she said, smiling. "Well, our pleasure."

He chuckled. "I'll tell you what, we'll count that as a 68 and I'll owe you one for later. But now, I need to get my shit together for the exercise..." He stood up and zipped his pants back up, stretching.

She huffed. "All right, but that just means I get to fuck you harder later on. Got it, sunshine pubes?" She pulled her shirt back on and gave him a hard look. "I should go edit my rough draft, I guess."

"Tell me when you get hungry, all right?" He turned and gave her an amused look. "Freckletits."

She blushed, and he laughed, coming over to her and kissing her on the forehead.


	10. In which love is made and talk is made

He made good his promise after they'd eaten and washed.

His tongue was magic, his lips enchantment, and she quivered with feeling, calling out his name as he worked her relentlessly. He had her as a wreck of ecstacy in his arms, her hips bucking, her contractions coming on stronger and stronger each time, until finally she screamed, drenched in sweat, and pushed him off, panting and shivering and crying.

"G-goddammit you son of a bitch," she said breathlessly, "where the fucking f-f-fuck did you learn that?!"

He licked his lips thoughtfully. "I've been reading your books. Specifically that one about all the sex tricks."

She wiped her forehead. "I thought you read slow."

"I do, I'm only through part of the first chapter on...cunnilingus?"

"Yeah, cunnilingus." She came forwards and embrace him. "Thank you so much..."

He wrapped his arms around her and lay down, smiling as she snuggled in close to his chest. "It's my pleasure. You always taste nice." She stroked his side, teasingly running a finger down to his erection, and he kissed her. "I'm ready to roll with you, if you're up to it..."

She turned onto her back and gave him a flushed, sweet smile. "Make love to me, Jean."

He mounted her, gently spreading her legs and laying a soft kiss on her neck. She responded by hooking her legs around his back, reaching down and lubricating him. He cupped her breasts and slid into her, and she gasped, rising to meet him, and they began to work, rocking in slow, steady thrusts. There was no sound but the creak of the bed and the heavy sound of his breathing, and she sighed, letting the deep, hot feeling of penetration lull her into a rising spiral of pleasure, his lips on hers drawing out sweet moans and gasps, until there was nothing but him, just him, just them together as one.

She whimpered breathlessly as she climaxed, her vision going white for a moment, vaguely aware of digging her nails into his back. He continued on, his voice catching as she sensed him reaching his limit.

"H-Hima-chan," he managed, "ohh, dear god..."

She felt the warm torrent inside her and gave a shivery sigh, kissing him on the lips. He panted and withdrew, lying down beside her. She reached over to the bedside table and handed him his cigarettes and lighter, and he smiled slightly.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he murmured, slipping a smoke between his lips and flicking his lighter open.

She rested her head on his chest, tracing the outline of one scar with a fingertip. "Where did you get all these?" she said softly. "If you don't mind telling me..."

He exhaled a streamer of smoke, stroking her hair. "Not at all, precious." He pointed to a crescent-shaped scar that ran over his shoulder, stopping at his collarbone. "This one's from shrapnel. Well, actually, there're four, all from shrapnel back when I was in Ishbal. I'm lying on two of them and the other one's just a nick." He indicated a large burnt-looking patch that surrounded his navel and extended downwards almost to the beginning of his pubic hair. "This is from when I got...well, one of my old girlfriends stabbed me. It's...uhh, it's pretty complicated, but she shanked me, I passed out, and while I was unconscious, Colonel Mustang saved my life by cauterizing the wound."

"Holy fuck," Hima said, her eyes going wide. "Holy fuck, what the hell?"

"I did say my luck with women has been pretty shit," he said wryly, smiling. "Aaaand then this one," he continued, turning his left wrist palm-up, revealing a small circular scar about the size of a pencil eraser, "is from when me and my brother were screwing around one time and he put a cigarette out on me."

"Now that's just fucked up."

"Nah, not really." He took a thoughtful drag on his cigarette. "I got him back, though. He got drunk not long after and passed out on the couch, so I shaved off his eyebrows and wrote 'HERE COMES A SPECIAL BOY' on his forehead."

"You're an asshole," she laughed. "It sounds like your life was pretty jam-packed."

"I suppose so. You got any siblings?"

She shook her head. "I don't think I'd've grown up to be such a royal bitch if I had. I wasn't really pampered, I just grew up knowing I was smarter than everyone else, right all of the time, and that I could outsmart a lot of my teachers." She shrugged. "You can tell I didn't have a lot of friends growing up, huh."

"I don't think you're a royal bitch," Havoc said. "A little combative, maybe. Cynical, yes." He slid his hand down her side and cuddled her close, and added, "If you're a royal bitch, then that makes you my royal bitch."

"You're forgetting that you're the bitch in this relationship, Jean Havoc," she retorted, crossing her arms.

"Since when?"

"Since you're the one who squeals like a virgin when his nipples are plucked," she growled, inching her hand towards his crotch again.

"Hey now, there's no need to get pushy." He sighed contentedly and ground out his cigarette, lackadaisically reaching for the pack again. "And you know I can make you squeal like a virgin now."

She chuckled. "Mmm-hmm."

There was silence for a few minutes. She closed her eyes and listened to his slow inhalations and exhalations, to the rhythm of his heartbeat. His skin was wonderfully warm...

"I-I..." He took a deep breath. "I th-think I love you, Hima."

"I know, Jean." She smiled dreamily. "I know. And I love you, too."

He slipped from beneath her and lay next to her, cradling her close, and she embraced him. She felt soothed. "We should go out together. On a date." She stretched, purring. "And then we can come home and fuck like rabbits."

"Life, liberty, and the pursuit of a penis," he chuckled, smoothing his hand down her side. "What are we going to do while we're on this mission?"

"It hinges on whether or not we consider the mission of more importance than instant gratification. You still have hands, you know. "

"So do you. But we both know it's not the same and it won't ever be." He sighed, closing his eyes. "It's everything. Touch, taste, scent, sound and sight."

"What is?"

"Sex." Sleep tugged at him, pulling him into a warm, doping haze. "It's everything and you..."

She smiled. No more was said.


	11. In which Havoc dreams and selfmedicates

_in the middle of the night, he was awakened by a resounding crash. he started, sitting up and throwing the blankets off. _

_-what the fuck was that?! he yelled at the other troops. nobody else spoke for a moment as they scrabbled for boots and firearms._

_-i don't have a fucking clue, breda shot back. -no one does. _

_a mad dash up the stairs led them into the clamouring heat of the ishballan night. fires flickered in the distance, and a wall of desperate voices rose at them as a brilliant explosion burst into existence on the horizon. _

_-it's that insane fuck kimbley again, isn't it, fuery said quietly. _

_heat sloughed the ruined buildings and the skyline into distorted waves. morrissey nudged him._

_-lemme bum one of those offa ya, havoc, he said, his eyes hooded with sleep. havoc offered the pack, and morrissey took one, striking a match on his boot. -i hate this fucking place. _

_havoc nodded in assent. morrissey continued, shutting his eyes and taking a long, heavy drag. -everything about it. the heat, this fucking heat. i hate the beats and i hate the food. _

_he sighed, running a hand back through his hair. -i hate this war, havoc. and i can't go on like this. _

_havoc was silent for a moment. the barren ground stretched onwards and onwards before him. -neither can i, morrissey. there's nothing here anymore. we razed the place to the ground. westwards, clouds were beginning to gather ominously, bruising the sky. -we razed it to the ground, and i can't even remember why. _

_morrissey smiled dryly. -the why is not the problem. it's the when i'm wanting to know about. another pull of smoke, and the soldier shut his eyes. -do you think we'll survive, havoc?_

He woke up with a start, his heart racing. He pulled away from Hima, sitting up suddenly.

"Morrissey," he said aloud to the dark room. She stirred at his hip and lay still.

He groped for his cigarettes, fumbling the box open and desperately lighting one, taking a long, deep drag, his hands shaking.

"Fuck," he whispered, "fuck..."

He swallowed, covering his face with his hand.

"Why now? Why _now?!_" He gritted his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why were they so _vivid_?! He could almost smell the lingering dust, the bright smell of breaking rock, the smoke of endless fires. He could feel the sheen of heat and humidity on his skin, could see it beading at Morrissey's forehead.

And why him? Why were they always centred around him?

He stood up and grabbed his cigarettes and lighter, and went downstairs quietly. He slipped outside, running a hand through his hair, savouring the cool breeze on his bare flesh. He sat on his porch in utter silence, and smoked until his hands stopped shaking.

The he went into his kitchen and poured himself a generous shot of brandy, and downed two of them before heading back into bed and falling into a dreamless sleep.


	12. In which the shower has many uses

For the second time in a row, he started awake. Instinctively his arm went for his assailant, and he sat up like a shot.

"Jesus Christ, Havoc, calm down!" Hima scowled. "You nearly clocked me in the fucking head!"

"Sorry, sorry," he said, "instincts, you know?"

"It's all right." She kissed him on the cheek. "You were snoring."

She followed him in the bathroom, sliding her hand into his boxers from behind as she nuzzled his side. "Have any good dreams...?"

He didn't say anything, instead turning the shower on and extracting her hand from his pants, then removing him. She frowned, stepping into the stream after him. "Something bothering you?"

"Nothing, I'm fine," he said, and she gave him a hard look.

"You are not." She put her hands on her hips. "What's bothering you?"

"I didn't sleep very well last night."

"Really?" She looked surprised.

Irritated, he turned his back to her, grabbing the soap and beginning to lather. "Yeah."

"What're you getting upset with me for? I didn't wake you up accidentally, did I?"

He closed his eyes, sighing. He almost wished she had. He turned, dropping into a crouch and reaching out to her. She softened and slipped into his lap. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Waking up at 3 AM tends to ruin your good mood, you know?"

"I know." She nuzzled him and took the soap out of his hands. "Now turn around. I wanna wash you again."

He submitted, letting her massage his back, run her fingers through his hair. She worked him gently, until he turned and kissed her, sliding his hand down her back, pulling her into his lap. _-I want to forget,_, he thought, and she responded by grasping his member and going lower, running the tip of her tongue up his underside, and he twitched and groaned in ecstacy.

Soon he was on his back, hips bucking as her lips brought him closer, and closer, her hand teasing his balls, a finger running down his taint, to his--

"Whoa, whoa, wh--" he managed, before Hima had squeezed a considerable amount of lube into her hand and slicked down his entrance. She stayed there, drawing circles on him, smirking.

"Should I keep going?" Her free hand teasingly stroked his cock. "Well?"

He swallowed, his face flushed. His answer was almost inaudible; "...yes."

She inserted one finger, then two, and began to walk her fingers inside him.

He almost screamed.

And then there was nothing but the concentrated, powerful, endless spiralling _oh god so close at the edge it's coming it's coming it's--_

His vision went white at the edges, and he was only vaguely aware of giving a long, drawn-out cry, his back arching, arching, euphoria extending past orgasm, and onwards and onwards, until he could barely take it any longer.

Breathlessly he lay limp, panting as if he'd run a marathon. Her face was flushed, and alarmed, she said, "Are you all right?! I've never seen you react like that before!"

Quaveringly, he covered his face with a hand, and sat up groggily. She hugged him, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Was it good?"

He roughly grabbed her face and kissed her mightily. She gave a purr of approval.

"I want you to do that to me way more often," he said finally, as they drew apart.

He put coffee on after they dried and dressed, and she went to the stove and fried them each a few eggs and some bacon. He grabbed the paper and sat down, flipping to the front page. She seated herself across the table and passed him his plate, and there was a comfortable silence for a moment.

"Who's Morrissey?" she said, her eyebrows raised. "I heard you talking in your sleep last night."

He didn't answer. She gave a short sigh of annoyance. "Is he a friend? Your brother? Long-lost lover?"

He stiffened, and slammed the paper down on the table, glaring at her. "Leave it, Hima," he snapped. She glared right back.

"What the fuck is your problem?! Last night you were all hugs and kisses and 'I love you's! What the hell could've happened in the past 12 hours for me to deserve that tone of voice?!"

He rose suddenly, threateningly, and she became aware of how much taller and stronger he was. He looked her straight in the eye, his gaze intense and unwavering. "I had a flashback last night." Her face fell. "There. Is that what you wanted?!"

"I'm sorry, Jean," she said. "I didn't know."

He turned away, aggravated. "Of course you didn't fucking know. And I didn't want to tell you."

"Why not?"

He ran a hand through his hair, fighting not to yell at her. It wasn't her fault. "Because it shouldn't be happening anymore," he said tightly, "it shouldn't. It happened years ago, it's over and it's done with and nothing is going to change that. So, we're going to go to work, and we're going to pretend this never happened. I didn't dream anything last night, and you didn't hear anything. Is that clear?"

She frowned. "And what makes you think you can order me around like that?"

He snarled. "For god's sake, for once in your life can you stop fucking arguing with me and just take my goddamned word?! I don't want to talk about it!"

"Why not?!" She was standing now, too, her hands planted firmly on her hips. Tiny as she was, she still looked imposing. "Don't be so tightlipped!"

"What right do you have to pry like this?!"

"Because I'm a goddamned journalist." Her jaw was set. "And I love you."

He covered his face with one hand, slumping against the wall. She came over to him, and laying her head on his chest, embraced him.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"It's all right, Jean. I understand. My mother used to do the same thing to my dad. I've seen it before..."

"Then," he replied, "then you should realize...that maybe I don't want to talk about it. Ever."

"All right." She let him go, straightening his uniform before she went back to the table. "Let's eat, yeah?"

It was almost too awkward to bear, trying to make light conversation. He was constantly avoiding her gaze, and his appetite seemed to have left him. Or, maybe he was just swapping sustenance for cigarettes. She sighed. "Not to your liking?"

He blinked. "Huh?"

"The food. Not hungry or something?"

He looked at his plate. "Oh, uhh..." He looked back up, slightly embarassed. "I forgot I had it."

She smiled, in spite of herself, and pushed the syrup across the table at him. "Well, eat up, we've gotta go soon."

"You put...syrup on your bacon?" he asked, one eyebrow cocked.

"Yeah, it's delicious. Try it!" He shook his head, taking up his knife and beginning to cut up his bacon. "Suit yourself, then."

"Must be some northern thing," he said, shaking his head. "These are damn good eggs, though."

"Thank you."

"Looks like we'll actually be on time today," he said, finishing his coffee quickly. "Thank god. The Colonel would probably murder me if I came in late again."

"And you guys have that exercise thing..." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "I think Hawkeye is assigned to look after me while you guys are busy kicking pirate ass."

"Whoever's protecting you, it won't be me. Even though it ought to be." He picked up his plate and set it in the sink, giving it a quick scrub before leaving it to soak. "No way in hell is Mustang gonna let me look after you now."

"Well, I guess that's the price we pay for messing around in his office." She wiped her mouth and put her plate in the sink. "We should use the storage rooms next time."

He spluttered and laughed. But he nodded, and said, "I'll lock it, I've got a key into'em."

"Part of the fun is the chance of being caught," she said, that smile playing about her lips again. "We'd better go now."

"You really are a kinky little thing, aren't you," he commented, and kissed her on the neck.


End file.
